Silver Lining
by Tez
Summary: Every dark cloud has a silver lining. Missing scene from Fantasy Date, BrendaFritz.


Summary: Every dark cloud has a silver lining. Missing scene from Fantasy Date, Brenda/Fritz.

Disclaimer: If I owned The Closer, TNT would be rerunning it daily instead of torturing us with hour after hour of Law and Order reruns starring Serena as the Incredible Expressionless ADA.

Content Disclaimer: I don't have Fantasy Date on tape, and TNT steadfastly refuses to rerun it until January, so I may have some little details wrong. Let's just be flexible and call it 'artistic license' instead of 'poor long-term memory'.

* * *

_He threw her down on the bed, using his body to immobilize her. She struggled wildly, fighting to reach her gun, but he was easily twice her size and managed to keep her pinned as he reached between them to pull up the hem of her skirt. She redoubled her efforts as his fingers brushed against her thigh, and suddenly her hand was on her holster. She grabbed for the butt of her gun and felt a surge of horror as she realized the holster was empty –_

A piercing scream woke her from the nightmare. She jerked up into a sitting position, her sheets pooling around her waist as she gasped for air. It wasn't until the kitchen light came on and she heard footsteps in the hall that she realized the scream had come from her.

"Brenda?" Fritz called softly, silhouetted in the doorway. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, really," she lied, hoping he wouldn't notice how her voice was trembling. "I'm fine."

"Uh-huh." He came into the room, perching on the edge of her bed. She reached for his hand before she realized what she was doing, needing the reassurance his touch afforded her. Fritz intertwined his fingers with hers, his thumb stroking the back of her hand as he gave her a long look. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She didn't answer, which was as telling as anything she could have said to him. He registered the panic in her expression, a clear indicator of how frightened she really was, and decided to take charge of the situation. Brenda was extremely fragile underneath her carefully cultivated sugar-sweet façade, and tonight the façade had crumbled, leaving her exposed. Until she could pull herself together, he would take care of her.

"Come here," he said gently, slipping his arms under her and lifting her out of bed. He couldn't help but notice that her pajamas were damp with sweat, and he felt a wave of sympathy overtake him. He'd worked more than his share of cases that caused him to wake up in a cold sweat.

When he set her down on her feet she wavered a little, and he wrapped his arm around her waist to help her balance.

"Where are we going?" she asked, hesitating, but he continued to guide her out of the room.

"You're going to take a nice hot shower," he told her, leading her into the bathroom and turning on the light. She squinted against the sudden brightness, watching in incomprehension as he gathered up all the towels in the room. "Or a bath, if you'd prefer."

"Shower," she replied automatically, and he nodded.

"I'll bring you towels and pajamas in a few minutes," he promised. "Do you want me to turn on the water for you?"

Brenda shook her head, the motion helping to clear the fuzziness from her mind.

"I can do it."

He nodded again, laying a quick kiss on her forehead before turning toward the door. She grabbed his hand unthinkingly, tugging him back to her and pressing her lips to his. It was a tender kiss, over far too soon, and when she pulled back he was smiling down at her.

"I just wanted to…to thank you," she whispered. "For staying."

"You're welcome," he whispered back. "Go take your shower. I'll be right outside if you need me."

He shut the door behind himself and waited. A few moments later, he heard the hiss of the shower and nodded, satisfied. His next stop was the laundry room, where he threw the towels into the dryer to warm them up and grabbed a spare set of sheets from the pile of neatly folded linens above the washer. He returned to the bedroom and stripped the sweaty sheets from Brenda's bed, carefully not thinking about how much he'd like to be between these sheets with her. Whatever had happened to her today, it had really shaken her, and the last thing she needed was him trying to seduce her. He'd save that for another day, when he could be sure that it was _him_ she wanted and not just someone, anyone, to be there with her.

Fritz put the finishing touches on Brenda's bed, fluffing the pillows before tucking them under the edge of her duvet.

"And me with no mint for the pillow," he murmured to himself, grinning at the mental image of Brenda returning to find that he'd given her bed five-star hotel service. He was gathering up the discarded sheets when he heard the buzz of the dryer. The towels were warmed, but he needed to find her spare pajamas. He was fairly sure they'd be in a dresser drawer, but the question was, which one?

The first drawer he opened, feeling like a housebreaker, was filled with panties and bras. He swallowed hard, swearing to himself that he wouldn't violate her trust by poking around in her underwear drawer, no matter how curious he was. The next drawer yielded nothing helpful: it was populated by workout clothes, mostly gym shorts and t-shirts with the occasional sports bra thrown in for good measure.

When he reached the third drawer, he hit the jackpot. There were several lust-inspiring satin nighties, but it was mostly filled with flannel pants and tank tops. He was tempted to grab one of the little satin numbers, but then he recalled how frightened she'd looked when she'd woken up from her nightmare. He didn't want to make her feel more exposed than she already did, so he opted for the pants-and-tank-top ensemble. Grabbing the clothes and the sheets, he went back to the laundry room, where he threw her sheets into the washer and took the now-warm towels out of the dryer.

"Brenda?" he called, cracking the bathroom door open before knocking lightly on it.

"C'mon in," she replied distractedly, still relaxing under the spray of the showerhead.

"I'm putting the towels and your pajamas on the counter," he told her through the opaque shower curtain. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, nothing." She paused, not sure how to best express her gratitude. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had been so kind to her. Unfortunately, a simple 'thank you' was the best she was going to come up with on three hours' sleep. "Thank you, Fritz."

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

He stepped back outside, closing the door. This time he waited to hear the shower turn off, and then he went into the kitchen, recalling that he'd seen a few dirty dishes sitting in the sink. Since he'd already done the laundry, he figured he might as well put the dishes in the dishwasher.

He was loading the last coffee mug into the top rack when he heard the bathroom door open. He turned to see Brenda standing in the doorway, looking adorable in her flannel sleep pants and little tank top. Her hair was wrapped up in a towel on top of her head, and she held another towel up as though offering it for his inspection.

"Hey. Did you have a nice shower?"

"You warmed up my towels."

The wonder in her voice made him smile. He closed the dishwasher, walking over to her and laying a soft kiss on her cheek.

"I made your bed, too," he agreed, sliding his arms around her waist. "And I did the dishes. Unlike many other members of the male species, I'm fully domesticated."

Brenda shook her head, disbelieving.

"You're the only man who's ever done anything like this for me." She hesitated. "I – I really appreciate it."

He'd known that she'd been in bad relationship after bad relationship, but he hadn't realized until now that she'd never been with anyone who treated her like she deserved to be treated. If she had, she wouldn't be so shocked that he was taking care of her tonight.

"I'm here for you, Brenda," he told her softly. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

She nodded against his chest and he held her tighter to him, wishing he could make her understand that she didn't have to thank him for doing something that, as both her friend and her semi-boyfriend, was an integral part of his job description. As he held her, he caught a whiff of something that smelled like peaches; her shampoo, maybe, or her body wash. It smelled nice, whatever it was, and he wondered whether Brenda attached any Southern-belle sentimentality to the peach scent. He was about to ask her when he got a glimpse of her upper arm and sucked in a sharp breath. There were dark finger-shaped bruises marring her pale skin.

"Brenda?" He removed his hands from her back and cupped her elbow, gently lifting her arm to get a better look at the vicious bruises. From the cut on her forehead, he'd assumed she'd been involved in a minor altercation. These bruises told a different story. "What happened tonight? Where's the son of a bitch who did this to you?"

"The DA is pleading him out," she said, feeling her throat tighten as tears gathered in her eyes. She forced them back, reminding herself that she'd sworn she wasn't going to cry in front of anyone over this. It was a weakness she couldn't afford right now. "It was a case of mistaken identity. I was alone, going through the crime scene at the victim's house, and he thought I was the victim."

"He attacked you thinking you were someone else, and your people thought that was a reason to let him off?"

Brenda knew the anger in his voice wasn't directed toward her, but she felt her tears start to fall anyway. She was an emotional wreck, and she just couldn't deal with any more stress tonight.

"Hey," he whispered, reaching out to brush her tears away as she looked down at her bare feet, her face hot with embarrassment at her inability to hold in her distress. "Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"The victim posted a request on the internet to be raped," Brenda explained quietly. "He was answering her ad."

"Jesus," he breathed, his hand freezing in place on her cheek as he realized what it meant. If he'd been there to rape the victim, and he'd mistaken Brenda for her… "Brenda, did he –"

"No," she interrupted, closing her eyes and snuggling against his muscular chest. He rested his chin on top of her towel-encased hair, rubbing her back in a reassuring motion. "No. I managed to get to my gun…but it was a near miss."

"It must have been awful for you," he murmured, his heart aching for her. She'd been brutally assaulted, and on top of that, the man who'd done it would probably only get a slap on the wrist. It had to be tearing her up inside. "Are you all right? Did they check you over at the hospital?"

"I'm fine."

"Is that what the doctors said?" he pressed, knowing she would have resisted any effort made by her fellow officers to get her examined. He knew he was right when she looked down at her feet again, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

"I didn't need to be seen," she insisted, but the words sounded hollow to his ears. "I wasn't raped."

"Are these the only bruises?"

She hesitated, shaking her head reluctantly. "Here," she murmured, lifting the hem of her shirt to show him the smattering of bruises on her torso. "And on my back."

"Let me see?" he requested. She turned around obediently, and he made a noise of sympathy at the particularly painful-looking bruise on her lower back. It stretched from the curve of her waist down to her flannel pajama pants, where it disappeared beneath the fabric. He traced it with his fingertips, wincing as he thought about how hard she had to have been hit in order to wind up with a bruise like that one.

"How far down does it go?"

"Farther than you're going without buying me dinner," she quipped, and he chuckled.

"Do you want me to get you some ice for it?"

"That would be nice," she replied, surprised by her own acquiescence. She usually didn't like to be babied, but tonight she was so tired that it was easier to let Fritz take care of things. She wandered into the living room, intent on lying down for a few minutes, as Fritz went over to the icemaker.

"Brenda?"

"Uh-huh?" she called back, removing the towel from her hair and tossing it onto the nearest chair before curling up on the sofa bed. The place where Fritz had been sleeping was still warm, and the pillow smelled like his cologne. She pressed her face into it, inhaling deeply and noting the pleasurable tingle that spread through her at the thought of them sleeping in the same bed.

"Can I get you a drink while I'm at it?"

"Mmm…merlot?"

"You got it."

The sound of him tinkering around in the kitchen was oddly soothing. His presence made her feel safe, and she let herself give in to the drowsiness pressing at the edge of her mind.

"Here you go, sweetheart," Fritz said a few moments later, coming back with the requested glass of wine and a washcloth filled with ice. He stopped short in the doorway, smiling to himself. Brenda was curled up on the sofa bed, fast asleep.

He ducked back into the kitchen, putting the ice in the sink and pouring Brenda's wine back into the bottle. Taking a drink from the glass of water he'd procured for himself, he returned to the living room, watching her silently. She looked more relaxed than she had all night, the tension in her face soothed away by the oblivion of sleep.

Setting down his water glass, he grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed and tucked it tenderly around her. She was so deeply asleep that she didn't even stir at his touch. He hesitated, contemplating the ethics of his next action. Brenda had been adamant about him not sleeping with her, but he was pretty sure it was because she hadn't wanted him to try and make a move on her. He wasn't about to try anything now that he knew what she'd been through tonight, and if she had another nightmare he didn't want her to wake up alone.

Deciding that it was for the greater good, he slipped into bed next to her. His original intention was to sleep on his own side of the bed, but she looked so vulnerable that he couldn't resist wrapping a protective arm around her slim waist.

"Sleep tight, Brenda," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "You're safe now."


End file.
